


It Was All Jane Fonda's Fault

by Mary_Jane221B



Series: Behind the Camera: NBT [5]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, dieting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 21:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7377802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mary_Jane221B/pseuds/Mary_Jane221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames, Arthur will tell you, goes through phases. They tend to occur between seasons of Love It or List It and they tend to be dramatic when they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Was All Jane Fonda's Fault

**Author's Note:**

  * For [earlgreytea68](https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/gifts).



Eames, Arthur will tell you, goes through phases. They tend to occur between seasons of Love It or List It and they tend to be dramatic when they do.

In the gap between seasons one and two he drifted off to England and holed up in his parent’s pub until Joe arrived and dragged him back to reality. Between seasons two and three Eames took up an abstract art class became bored then decided to try being a live model before himself into some trouble by flirting outrageously with the teacher and getting chased down a street, naked, by the blokes rather well muscled girlfriend who didn’t take kindly to the naked man presenting his penis to her boyfriend for inspection and potentially more illicit activities.

Eames ended up with his naked ass on gossip sites for a month after that but the pictures as he liked to point out to Arthur were highly flattering at really his ass looked pretty impressive while he was running, laughing and cupping his groin.

But between seasons three and four Eames latest hobby was the most disturbing thing Arthur had ever seen. Eames as it turned out liked to dance, liked to stretch and loved Jane Fonda. Arthur was in hell.

***

“Now come on ladies pump those muscles. And stretch! One, two, three, four and down! One, two, three, four and stretch! One, two, three, four and lunge! One, two, three, four and up...” and so the tone for Arthur’s filming break was set. He spent most of the free time he had when not doing his actual job, finding people beautiful homes, or helping Eames finalise the plans for the new house watching in horror as Eames. Eames, dressed in the most unflattering Lycra unitard he could find, started on his mission to work through the collection of Fonda’s greatest hits.

***

“Darling,” Eames said before collapsing on the sofa and resting his sweaty head in Arthur’s previously nice dry lap “I am thinking I should diet. What do you think?”

Arthur distracted as he was by resisting the urge to simply push the disgusting lump of sweat and clingy Lycra off his beautifully pressed linen trousers said; “As you like Eames.”

Eames frowned slightly and Arthur wondered for a moment if he had said the wrong thing but Eames just jumped up and said “Right! Time to research.” 

Arthur was just thankful his lap was now free from sweaty contamination.

Eames discovered the F plan and Arthur’s life descended to the next rung of hell.

***

Arthur did not cook, he could toast a bagel and maybe stretch himself to soup but as a general rule he avoided cooking. Arthur loved salads. His mother had been a big believer in vegetables being a key part of any meal and Arthur, taking this lesson to heart, had continued it into later life.

The one thing Arthur did make with a modicum of success was salmon and vegetables. His mother had gifted him on his last birthday with a beautiful steamer that had multiple layers and Arthur was so completely in love with this machine.

So when Eames suggested they have a night in rather than dinner out Arthur volunteered to cook. Eames was wary Arthur had once tried to make them chicken and dumplings and nearly burnt Eames apartment to the ground but Arthur reminded him of the steamer and Eames, pacified, agreed.

 Dinner ended up being a disaster of over cooked vegetables and under cooked fish but the evening ended with Eames tackling Arthur mid-panic spiral onto his living room rug and pinning him down with his newly acquired muscle mass and kissing him senseless. The sex that ensued was messy, handsy and deliciously sweaty and if afterwards Eames spent a few more minutes than usual in Arthur’s bathroom patting his developing six pack with a smugness that bordered on self worship Arthur did not think it worth mentioning.

***

A month later Arthur went to lunch with Harry and she forced Arthur to face his growing suspicions;

“What in the world is happening with Eames?” Harry asked while tipping her head back so she could catch some of the September rays that had mostly been obscured by the over sized parasol the café used to shade their tables.

“I don’t know what you mean?” Arthur said and he tried not to squirm when Harry fixed him with a ‘you’re not fooling anyone’ glare.

“He’s eating the strangest food and he’s dragging Joe’s butt to the gym four times a week. Now I’m not complaining necessarily because the new found strength has opened up a whole branch of adventurous sexcapades that I didn’t know existed but the point remains Eames has gone fitness mad and it’s starting to get a bit, well frankly, weird. I heard him talking to himself the other day Arthur while he was eat some sort of bean casserole, ‘come on Eames, work through it Eames, just keep going Eames’ I mean what the hell?”

“He’s trying this F Plan thing. It’s all bloody Jane Fonda’s fault.” Arthur complained, he stabbed at the lemon in his ice tea and frowned deeply down into the glinting ice cubes that tapped the sides of his glass with every move of his straw.

“Why in the world is he dieting? And the F Plan really? That’s so eighties.” Harry crinkled her nose and paused to smile at the waiter who drifted over to place the over sized white bowls piled high with chicken salad in front of them.

“Yes the F plan and you know what it’s disgusting. That bean dish you saw him eating. That’s a bloody staple of the thing and you know what’s worse than the food? The gas!”

“The gas?” Harry queried before taking a sip of her lemonade.

“Yes the horrible horrible gas, I don’t think he even realises but I have to share a bed with him and I swear if he farts one more time during sex I am going to ban him from my apartment!” Arthur yelled at a volume that attracted far more attention than he intended this conversation to garner. He blushed furiously and attacked his salad with a new found ferocity.

His blush deepened a further shade when Harry finally gave in and burst out laughing and logically Arthur knows this situation is funny and if it were anyone else he would probably be losing himself in mirth just as much as Harry but this is Eames.

Wonderful, magical and perfect Eames. The man Arthur adored and just wanted to go back to how he was before all the insane working out and fucking fibre heavy dieting started. Arthur missed curling around Eames and nuzzling into the slight softness of his stomach. He missed slow and lazy sex where neither of them could be bothered with any sort of effort except the sort that resulted in them being as close as possible. Arthur missed ridiculous showers together that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with Eames breaking down Arthur’s stiff exterior and making him laugh by trying to twirl his dick around like a helicopter blade.

Granted the last one need never be shared with Harry but the general sentiment of missing his boyfriend, the partner he had finally found again he does and Harry listened in that way that good friends do where they just sit and hold your hand and let you spill out all of your insecurities and ridiculous thoughts because Arthur knew that he still has Eames.

 He knew that he could catch a cab and be at Eames flat in thirty minutes, declare his love and Eames would just scoop him up in the way he had started doing and they’d do something ridiculous like fuck on the kitchen counter or against the refrigerator and that would be that.

But Arthur doesn’t want that. Not now. Right now Arthur wanted to press Eames down onto a sofa and wrap himself around him like a vine. He wanted comfort and warmth. He wanted Eames to stroke his hair and call him Darling rather than flinging him around like a cave man.

***

Arthur was a grown up Harry reminded him, which meant If he wanted to know what was happening with Eames he should just ask. He should call and ask to go over, they should sit together and talk. That was the sensible and mature thing to do so that was his plan.

Of course when he got there Eames opened the door dressed in Lycra shorts and some tie dyed tank top monstrosity and Arthur saw red. Eames, thinking Arthur’s sudden interest in ripping his clothes off was leading to sex preened under the attention and started trying to land a kiss on Arthur’s weaving face.

He lets out a noise of surprise when Arthur knocks him on his ass and a noise of complaint when Arthur hurled his sensible work out shoes across the room. They land with a satisfying thud behind the sofa and Eames is going to make Arthur collect those when whatever this is was all over. The fluffy blue sweat bands he had on each wrist got torn off with Arthur’s teeth and really, Eames thought, this should have been much sexier than it was proving to be.

Eames was lying completely naked, flat on his back and panting hard when Arthur finally stilled. Arthur stopped and pressed hard on Eames pecs as if to press him into the floor. Eames dick was half hard but Arthur wasn’t making any moves to make this sexual and Eames wasn’t eager enough to make a push for it.

“Hello Darling,” Eames said “Would you care to explain why I’m naked?”

“I hate your fucking Lycra.” Arthur spat out. He pulled his nails in slightly scratching Eames skin in the process. “I hate your fucking Lycra and I hate Jane Fonda and I don’t care about you working out with Joe but I swear to god if you don’t stop dieting I’m going to have to kill you because I can’t put up with the fucking foul gas anymore Eames I can’t and I love you. I adore you. But you’re driving me crazy.” Arthur was digging his nails into Eames skin hard enough to leave a mark but Eames ignores it in favour of cupping Arthur’s face in his hands and pulling him down for a kiss. It was a slow kiss, wet and full of the love and comfort Arthur had been so desperate for.

“Alright Darling.” He says affably and Arthur laid himself out over Eames still fully clothed and let himself be wrapped in a too tight embrace right there in the entryway.

 


End file.
